


I Want Your Love (Don't Try to Stop Me)

by holtzbabe



Category: Ghostbusters (2016)
Genre: F/F, a oneshot collection because I need words for NaNoWriMo, prompts welcome!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-07
Updated: 2019-07-29
Packaged: 2019-08-20 00:06:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 15,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16544951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/holtzbabe/pseuds/holtzbabe
Summary: A collection of oneshots and prompts about whatever your heart desires





	1. Practicing

**Author's Note:**

> I'm doing NaNoWriMo and I decided I needed an outlet for when I'm stuck with my other WIP fics but still need to meet word count goals. I honestly have no clue what you're going to find here but I hope you enjoy!

Holtz is sitting on the floor in front of the closed bathroom door, ear pressed against it.

“Holtzy, what the hell are you doing?” Patty says as she walks past.

Holtz presses her index finger to her lips. “Shhhh.”

Patty shakes her head and keeps walking.

“Hey, Holtz,” Erin’s muffled voice says on the other side of the door. “I was wondering, if, um, maybe you’d want to go…places…with me? Together?”

There’s a pause.

_“Places,_ ” Erin says. “Come on, Erin. You have a PhD. Use your words.” She clears her throat. “Heeeyyyyy, Holtz. How’s it kickin’? Oh my god, no. Hey Holtz! We should go dating! _What?_ That wasn’t even grammatically coherent. Holtzmann, hey. You, me, movie sometime. Unless you don’t like movies. Oh god. Does she even like movies?”

Holtz nods to herself.

“Jillian, would you like to share a malted this evening? Oh my god. Why’d you just call her Jillian? What the hell, Erin?”

Holtz grins.

“So, uh, listen, Holtz. I think you’re neato. I mean, rad. I mean…do I know any adjectives from this decade? Hello, Holtz, it’s me, Erin, your colleague from work. Your _friend_ from work. Your _I’d like to be something more_ from work. I think you’re out of this world.”

There’s a loud thunk, like maybe Erin is hitting her head against the wall.

“Stupid, stupid, stupid. Have you ever spoken to another human before? Hi! It’s me! It’s Erin! You know who I am, so why am I speaking like this! Hiya, Holtz, you don’t know this but you make me feel…like I’m losing my goddamn mind, honestly. Why is it so hard to talk to you? Hello, Erin, it’s me, Holtzmann—wait, _fuck.”_

Holtz is suppressing silent laughter, her whole body shaking.

“This is hopeless,” Erin says. “This is hopeless! It’s hopeless.”

There’s a loud exhale, and then the door suddenly opens inwards. Holtz falls over into the bathroom and Erin jumps back in surprise.

“Holtz? What the—”

Holtz scrambles upright. “Heyyy, Erin.”

“What—what were you—how long have you—”

“Don’t mind me, I was actually just leaving,” Holtz says, pointing over her shoulder. “I was gonna go grab a malted.”

Erin turns crimson.

“Oh my god,” she says.

“Before I go, though,” Holtz says, leaning on the door frame casually. “I think maybe you had a question you wanted to ask me?”

Erin bites her lip. Holtz loves it when she does that.

“I, um…”

“Don’t over-think it,” Holtz says.

Erin inhales. “Holtz. Um. Do you…maybe…possibly…want to maybe…go…sometime…out…with me…somewhere…on a date? With me? Maybe? Not today. Or maybe today. But it doesn’t have to be today. Or ever. But we could go today. Somewhere. Anywhere. Wherever you wanted. Or if you didn’t want to, then we wouldn’t, obviously, but—”

Holtz holds her hands up with an easy grin. “Whoa. You could’ve stopped like a minute ago. Wrap it up.”

Erin blushes further. “Do you want to go out?” she blurts in a rush.

“I would be absolutely honoured,” Holtz says with a little bow. I think you’re out of this world, Erin.”

Erin shakes her head but she’s fighting back a smile. “I can’t believe you were listening outside the bathroom door. You’re such a weirdo.”

“Weird is my middle name, baby,” Holtz says, finger-gunning her. “Actually, it’s Cornelius.” 

“Weirdo,” Erin repeats.

Holtz blows her a kiss.

She can’t _wait_ to see how Erin will go about working up the nerve to kiss her one day. _That_ should be a damn sight to behold.


	2. A Place to Stay

“I need a place to stay.”

Erin looks up from her work to see Holtz leaning in the door frame of her office.

“Sorry?”

Holtz comes and sits on the edge of her desk. “I need a place to stay. My apartment’s a no-go right now.”

Erin frowns. “Why? Is it being fumigated or something?”

“Sure,” Holtz says.

Erin cocks her head.

“I got evicted,” Holtz admits. “You set _one_ radioactive colony of spiders loose, and all of a sudden you’re public enemy number one.”

“I’m sorry, you _what now?”_

“Don’t worry, they’ll fumigate.”

“You’re not staying at my apartment,” Erin says with a shake of her head. “Not a chance.”

“Fine, the street it is.”

Erin rolls her eyes. “Don’t give me that. You can stay with Abby or Patty.”

“Patty’s sister is in town and Abby doesn’t let me stay at her place anymore.”

Erin eyes her. “Why not?”

Holtz levels a gaze over her glasses. “If I tell you, it won’t help my case.”

“Oh my god. Get off my desk, Holtzmann.”

“Pleeeeeaaase?”

“Please get off my desk, Holtzmann.”

Holtz pouts. “I come to you in my time of need and you treat me like this. Some friend you are.”

Erin huffs. “Fine. _Fine._ One night. Then you have to figure something else out.”

“One week.”

“Two nights.”

“Five.”

“Three.”

“Deal.” Holtz shakes Erin’s hand, then hops off the desk. “You’re not going to regret this.”

“Yeah I am,” Erin mutters. “I’ll email you my apartment rules. Now let me get back to work.”

The corner of Holtz’s mouth quirks up. “House rules, huh? Am _I_ going to regret this?”

“ _Goodbye,_ Holtzmann.”

“Catch ya later, roomie,” Holtz says cheerfully.


	3. Tai Chi

Ask Erin why she agreed to let Holtz teach her tai chi.

Well—she _knows_ why she agreed, but that doesn’t mean she’s not regretting her decision.

“And then we step, and turn—ward off right,” Holtz says, modeling in front of Erin.

Erin tries hopelessly to follow along, but she feels like she’s doing it all wrong. She doesn’t even have a tenth of the grace that Holtz has. Sure, she’s been doing it for years and obviously has more practice, but it’s more than that. Holtz just seems comfortable. Erin does not.

Holtz turns to take in Erin’s stance.

“It’s bad, isn’t it?” Erin adjusts one of her hands, trying to get it closer to where Holtz had hers.

Holtz strolls over. “Hold on a second. I’m just gonna—”

She comes up behind Erin and oh-so-gently takes her by the hips, turning her slightly to the right.

“You’re not breathing,” Holtz murmurs. “Exhale, Erin.”

Sure enough, Erin had been holding her breath. She exhales shakily. Holtz is still holding her hips.

“Feel the difference?”

“Yep,” Erin manages to say.

Holtz lets go of her hips and drops into a crouch. She pokes Erin’s left leg. “Bend this one more?”

Erin bends it.

“More,” Holtz says.

Erin bends it further.

Holtz stands back up and comes around to her front, where Erin’s hands are positioned in the air in front of her chest.

Holtz carefully moves both hands an inch or so to the left, then grabs Erin’s left wrist.

“Relax this,” she says.

Erin tries.

“Erin,” Holtz says. “You see how those tendons are tensed up? That’s not relaxed.”

“I’m sorry,” Erin says through gritted teeth. “I’m trying.”

“You know the whole reason why I suggested this was because you’ve been super tense, right? I’m trying to help you let go.”

“I know,” Erin says. “I’m trying. Really.”

How does she explain that Holtz’s very presence is the reason Erin is always tensed up? She’s never going to be able to relax, not while Holtz is this close to her. Not while Holtz is dressed in her Ghostbusters’ jumpsuit, sleeves rolled up to her elbows. Not while Holtz is touching her and making her skin feel electric.

“Erin?” Holtz waves a hand in front of her face. “Where’d you go? Are you meditating?”

Erin swallows and lets her hands fall. “Let’s face it, Holtz, I’m not cut out for this. I’m doing it all wrong.”

Holtz appraises her for a moment, then takes a step back.

“Try something for me,” she says. “Reset back to the beginning and close your eyes.”

“Why?”

“Just trust me.”

Erin does. Unequivocally.

She closes her eyes.

“Now make your way through the form. Don’t think, just move.”

Erin swallows, takes a deep breath, centering herself, and begins.

Once she gets to ward off right again, she opens her eyes.

Holtz is right there. _Right_ there. Closer than she was before.

“Look down,” she says softly.

Erin takes in her own hands, her stance. They’re exactly where they’re supposed to be.

“Look what you could do when you weren’t thinking about it,” Holtz says. “Is it because I’m here? Does it psych you out when I’m watching? Do you feel self-conscious?”

“No,” Erin says quickly.

“But you were more relaxed when you had your eyes closed,” Holtz points out.

Erin squeezes her eyes shut. “Maybe I’m just worried about trying to impress you.”

A pause. “Pssh. You don’t need to worry about that. I’m not judging. You’re just a beginner.”

“I _know_ you’re not judging me,” Erin says. “That’s not what I meant.”

She opens her eyes. Holtz is waiting, eyebrows raised.

Erin chews her lip. Her hands are still in place, putting distance between her and Holtz. Warding her off. It’s a defensive position.

“Holtz,” she says quietly, “I didn’t agree to learning tai chi because I knew it would help me relax. It was the opposite, actually.”

“Not following you,” Holtz says.

Erin tilts her head, trying to communicate the truth with her eyes. She doesn’t want to say it.

Holtz runs her tongue along her teeth and reaches out, taking Erin’s hands again.

“You’ve tensed up again,” she mumbles.

“I know,” Erin says. “It’s because you’re holding my hands.”

Holtz stares at their hands for a moment, then looks up and releases them. She clears her throat.

Before Erin can process what is happening, Holtz is reaching out to take Erin’s head in between her hands. She slowly tilts it back to a neutral position.

“Breathe,” Holtz reminds her.

Erin tries. Really hard. Her hands slowly fall and hang by her sides.

Holtz looks her up and down, still holding her head in place. She pauses for a moment, then leans in, brushing her lips against Erin’s for a fraction of a second.

Erin sighs happily, instantly feeling the tension melt off her, relaxing into Holtz’s embrace.

When Holtz pulls back, Erin’s mind is completely clear for the first time in months.

“Ah,” Holtz says, sheepishly releasing Erin’s head. “So. We figured out the secret.”

“The secret?” Erin repeats dreamily.

“To get you to relax,” Holtz says, a smile spreading across her face.

Erin grabs Holtz by the collar of her jumpsuit and pulls her back in.

Okay, maybe she could get into tai chi after all.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Five guesses which mindfulness-based martial art class I'm currently sitting in Starbucks killing time before
> 
> (I think I'd be enjoying it a lot more if Holtz was teaching my class tbh)


	4. A Complete Disaster

“I can’t believe I screwed up this badly. All I wanted to do was cook you a nice meal. This is a complete disaster,” Erin wails.

“Nah, not even close,” Holtz says. “A complete disaster would be if—”

The stove catches on fire.

Erin immediately flies back. “ _Holtz! Fire!”_

Holtz pushes her sleeves up over her elbows. “Oh, mama. Now we’re cooking!”

“ _Fire!”_

“Stop freaking out. They can sense fear.” Holtz opens a cupboard door. “Where do you keep the lids?”

Erin trips over herself running towards a drawer, which she yanks open. Seconds later, she shoves a lid into Holtz’s hands.

Holtz calmly and expertly slides the lid across the burning pot, extinguishing the flames with practiced ease.

Erin is clutching her arm like the world is ending. “You _saved me_ ,” she says. “ _And_ my kitchen.”

“That’s a titch dramatic, but you know what, I’ll take the praise.” Holtz bows. “You’re welcome.”

Erin waves her hand, trying to clear some of the smoke. “Seriously. How incompetent am I? It’s _spaghetti._ Toddlers can make this.”

“We all have our strengths,” Holtz says, kissing Erin’s cheek. “Mine, for instance, is extinguishing small-to-astronomical blazes of various origin. Yours is…”

“Not cooking,” Erin says.

“No,” Holtz says. “Not even close.”

Erin groans. “What are we supposed to eat now?”

“Never fear, my dear, Holtzmann is here,” Holtz says. She pulls her phone from her pocket. “Cheese or onions?”

“Sorry?”

“What pizza topping? Cheese or onions?”

“Why are those my only two options?”

“Because you burnt the spaghetti,” Holtz teases, already dialing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt said a "fancy" meal but you know what, it didn't need to be fancy to be a complete disaster ;)


	5. Missing Work

“You got any big Friday-night plans tonight?” Holtz asks casually.

“No,” Erin says, a little wistfully.

“What, no hot dates?”

It’s teasing, the way Holtz says it, light. Like it doesn’t matter how Erin answers. Like Holtz hasn’t been trying to think of a way to ask the question all day. All month. All year.

Erin laughs lightly, but there’s a hollow ring to it. “No.” There’s a hefty pause. “I think I’ve officially withdrawn myself from the dating pool.”

Every muscle in Holtz’s body freezes up.

“Why?” she manages to choke out.

There’s another long hesitation before Erin answers. “I think I’ve fallen in love with someone,” she says slowly, every word careful, like she’s trying to minimize the damage. Like she _knows_ that there will be damage.

Holtz’s hand slips and she nearly slices her thumb off with her Swiss Army knife. She sets it down on the table with a shaking hand and resigns to eating her apple the old fashioned way, taking a large bite and using the time while she chews to come up with a response that doesn’t have her sounding deranged.

“Good for you,” she manages to finally say an eternity later, after she has pulped the apple between her molars and let it slither down her throat as mush. She avoids Erin’s eyes. “I’m happy for you, Erin.”

Erin gives her a little half-smile, eyes shadowed, and resumes scratching lines onto the notepad in front of her.

Holtz can hardly concentrate the rest of the day. She causes three fires, electrocutes herself twice, and nearly brings the whole firehouse down by flipping a couple switches in the wrong order. Eventually, she surrenders to her complete inability to function, and she packs up her things at 5:00 when they close for the day.

Erin eyes her with thinly-veiled surprise. “You’re not staying late?”

Holtz shrugs on her coat. “Not tonight.”

She knows it’s uncharacteristic for her. It’s not uncommon for her to stay midnight or even later, and she hasn’t left before 9:00pm since they opened for business, aside from the time she had an emergency dental appointment a few months back (she broke a tooth eating a candy that’s technically illegal in the US, which served her right for smuggling it in).

“Do _you_ have a hot date?” Erin jokes.

Holtz stares at her boots for a few seconds, shifting her jaw right and then left, then makes eye contact with Erin for the first time in hours.

“Sure. Why not,” she says flatly. She grabs her bag and slings it over her shoulder. “See ya. Have a good night.”

Erin’s forehead creases with concern. “Thanks. See you later?”

Holtz salutes her half-heartedly and leaves. She takes the stairs down to the first floor, saying goodbye to Abby and Patty on her way out. They seem equally as stunned to see her heading out so early (and not using the fire pole.

“You okay, baby?”

Holtz doesn’t meet Patty’s concerned eyes either. “I’m fine. See you guys on Monday.”

She walks all the way home even though it takes her well over an hour. She doesn’t mind. It’s only September, and the air is still mild. She’s not used to going home in the daylight, even when it was summer. She’s not sure that she’s a fan. She’s a night owl—always has been, always will.

She makes it to her apartment and steps inside to the comforting chaos of it, shutting the door on the unforgiving world outside. She strips off her coat, then her vest, leaving both on a chair that’s already piled high with crap and other clothes.

She hangs her goggles from a hook on the wall and does a quick search of the apartment until she finds what she’s looking for—a mostly-full bottle of homemade vodka, which she fermented and distilled at home during a week back in May when she was forcibly quarantined by her fellow ’busters due to a particularly nasty and contagious strain of the flu and had to pass the time _somehow_. She hasn’t drunk much of it, in part because of the associations with being sick, but also because it’s not very good. There’s a reason distilling your own spirits is illegal in the US—but Holtz knows her way around her spirits, both of the metaphysical variety and the alcoholic variety.

Besides, it’s all about science. She knows how to avoid poisoning herself.

(Accidentally. She knows how to avoid poisoning herself accidentally.)

She clambers into the hammock that she has string from wall to wall, flips the top of the bottle off with her teeth, and settles in for the long hall.

She takes a long swig and chokes on it.

“Oh, that is putrid,” she says.

A few seconds pass, and then she takes another gulp.

Erin’s in love with someone. Of course she is.

This was always bound to happen. Holtz just didn’t think it would happen so fast. She thought she had _time._

Time to muster up the courage. Time to feel things out. Time to chip away, slip hints, work up to it. _Time._

But time has run out as it always does, and it’s too late.

She doesn’t move from the hammock aside from the occasional pee break, her body trying to rid itself of the poison. She drinks until she feels sick, then sets the bottle aside and falls asleep.

She doesn’t move the next day, either.

She can’t remember the last time she didn’t work over the weekend. She usually works all day at the lab on Saturdays and then spends Sunday morning in the closest thing to a church that she knows—elbows deep in a dumpster, singing her praises to the junkyard goddesses for blessing her with goldmine finds week after week.

Today, though, she makes no move to go to the lab—and she somehow doubts she’ll make it out for dumpster-worship this week either.

She has no idea what time it is and doesn’t try to find out. It makes it less shameful to pick up the bottle again. She clutches it like a teddy bear and pines.

She’s startled an indeterminate amount of time later by a sudden noise behind her on her fire escape. She freezes. Her brain, slowed by the potent liquor, stumbles over itself trying to plot a self-defense strategy with the available resources. The bottle of vodka. Could be used as a projectile. Her fists. Could be used for punching.

That’s about it. With her back to the window, she’s at a disadvantage. Sunk into the hammock, even more so. With her current sluggishness and impaired reflexes, her tuck-and-roll would be clumsy at best, and downright damning at worst. She’ll be no use at all on the floor.

The window in question slides up, causing Holtz’s heart rate to skyrocket.

“I’m armed,” she warns loudly.

Normally it’s true. Not today. Her Swiss Army knife got left behind in the lab, sticky from slicing her apple earlier. It’s unlike her to not bring home work with her, too, munitions of some sort that aren’t built for war against the living, but will do some damage all the same.

She has nothing, though. Nothing but her bottle and her fists, neither of which are looking very promising at the moment.

“Holtz? It’s just me.”

Holtz squints at the wall, then slowly rolls over in the hammock, liquid sloshing out of her jug as she does so.

Erin is poised on the fire escape, one hand holding the window up. Her nose wrinkles in distaste, clearly able to smell the liquor from there.

“Can I come in?” Erin presses.

“You’re already halfway,” Holtz says. The words come out more slurred than expected. She hasn’t exactly been counting the ounces she’s consumed, and she can’t even remember the proof—she tested it when she first made the alcohol, but the number burnt up into the fires of her fevered mind at the time. For all she knows, she could be drinking rocket fuel.

Erin, graceful in that clumsy Erin way, climbs in through the window and lets it fall shut behind her.

“You didn’t come to work,” she says.

“It’s Saturday.”

“Like that’s ever stopped you.” She steps forward. “You’re drunk.”

“It’s Saturday.”

Erin reaches and pries the bottle from Holtz’s grasp, taking a sniff and holding it up to the light. “What the hell is this stuff?”

“Illegal,” Holtz says. “What are you doing here?”

Erin sets the bottle on the windowsill, far away from Holtz’s reach. “You didn’t come to work,” she repeats. “You weren’t answering your phone. I thought you might be…”

Her phone. Still in the pocket of her coat.

“Dead?” she supplies.

Erin gives her a look.

“I’m not,” Holtz says.

“I’m glad.”

The silence sits heavy. It makes Holtz want to sleep. She lets her eyelids drift shut.

“Are you okay?”

Holtz doesn’t crack an eye. “I’m alive.”

“No, I mean, are you _okay?”_

_“_ What’s the distinction?”

Erin sighs. “Sleep it off, Holtz.”

“Okay,” Holtz says. Just as she’s about to surrender, the words tumble from her mouth in a barely-intelligible mumble. “I hope he makes you happy, Er.”

“Who?”

Holtz sleeps.

When she wakes up, it’s dark outside. Erin is still there. She’s moved some of the stuff off the Chair and is sitting in it. The vodka bottle has vanished from the windowsill.

Erin follows her gaze. “I flushed it down the toilet. It smelled like lighter fluid.”

“Fair,” Holtz says. She rolls, twisting until she’s struggled herself upright in the hammock. She rubs her head and gives Erin a look. “How did you know where I live?”

Erin comes back with a look of her own. “I was the one who brought you home when you were puking your guts out in May.”

Holtz waves her hands. “Please don’t mention puking.”

Erin scoffs.

They’re both quiet for several minutes. Holtz swings her feet.

“There’s no guy,” Erin says.

Holtz lifts her head. “Come again?”

Erin holds eye contact. “There’s no guy. When I said I was in love with someone, I didn’t mean that I’ve been seeing someone. That’s what you were talking about earlier, right?”

Holtz’s brow creases. “I don’t understand.”

Erin rolls her eyes. “It’s you, Holtz.”

“It’s me who what?”

“You’re pretty stupid, sometimes, you know that, right?”

“And you’re pretty mean sometimes. Breaking into my apartment just to throw out my booze and call me stupid.”

“I’m in love with you, Holtz.”

Holtz blinks. Her head hurts. “You’re…in love…with me?”

“ _Obviously_ ,” Erin says. “I’ve only been trying to tell you for _months.”_

“That…was not coming across.”

Erin raises an eyebrow. “Wasn’t it? Or were you just oblivious?”

Holtz is quiet for a few moments. “That is. Very possible.”

“Obviously if you don’t feel the same way I’ll get over it,” Erin says. She waves her hand at Holtz. “But I’m under the impression that all this was because of me. Am I wrong?”

“You’re awfully confident,” Holtz says. “What happened to the Erin Gilbert I know and love? The one who used to get so flustered when I flirted with her that she’d lose the ability to speak like a functioning human?” The corner of her mouth ticks up as she says it.

Erin smiles smugly. “I watched you puke your guts out,” she says. “Nothing like a nasty bout of the stomach flu to make a woman seem less intimidating.”

Holtz clutches her abdomen. “What did I say about the word ‘barf?’”

Erin slides off the chair and strides over with a bottle of water that she got from god knows where. “Here.”

Holtz uncaps it with her teeth and takes a drink.

“Tiny sips,” Erin says. “That’s no bottle of homemade vodka.” She pauses. “Not that you should’ve been chugging that either.”

“Give it a rest with the vodka shame. I’ve already forgotten about it.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Erin says. She reaches to push some no-doubt-greasy hair from Holtz’s forehead. “So. Here’s what we’re going to do. I’m going to go home, because it’s late and I want to sleep. You are going to continue to sleep it off. And in the morning, we’re going to go get breakfast together.” Erin plants her hands on her hips. “Unless you have a problem with that.”

Holtz grins. “You know, I kinda love Confident Erin.”

“Good,” Erin says. She starts to walk away, then turns back. “Oh, and don’t worry—we’ll still have tons of time for dumpster diving after breakfast.”

Holtz lights up. “You. Are my perfect woman. Do you know that?”

Erin gives her a self-satisfied smirk. “I’ll say. See you tomorrow morning, Holtz.”

“See ya then, Erin.”

As Holtz watches her cross the apartment towards the door, she flops back in the hammock with a dopey grin.

Sometimes it pays to stay home from work.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompted by [this stellar artwork](http://googoogojob.tumblr.com/post/179859410598/jillbert-jillbert-gimme-your-holtzbert)


	6. Not Broken

The flirting is so obvious that both of them know exactly where this thing is heading. It’s not a question of _if—_ it’s a question of _when._

As they stumble closer and closer to the inevitable, Erin starts to feel more and more anxious. The more real this becomes, the more she starts to back away from it, and the more she starts to let herself down early because she knows it would never work. It _never_ works. How _could_ it work when she’s broken?

She retreats further and further into herself.

Holtz notices.

“I have a question,” she asks one day when they’re sitting side-by-side alone in the lab and have some privacy. She watches Erin stiffen in anticipation for her question, and she frowns, reaching out one hand as if to touch her arm reassuringly without actually doing so. “Don’t worry, it’s nothing bad.”

Erin swallows and tries hopelessly to convince her nervous system that Holtz is speaking the truth. “What is it?”

Holtz drums her fingers on the table and tries to come up with the best wording.

“I’ve noticed that lately…when I flirt with you, you seem to…” She waves her hand in the air as if that completes her sentence.

Erin knows what she means, though. She bites her lip. “I’m sorry,” she says.

“I wasn’t imagining it before, right? You were interested? Did something change?” Holtz hesitates, her stomach flipping unpleasantly. “Did you meet someone else?”

“No,” Erin says immediately, shaking her head rapidly. “No,” she says, quieter.

Holtz scrapes her stool a few inches closer to Erin and fiddles with a frayed wire on the table in front of her. “I guess I kinda always thought that…you know, one day…when we were ready…we might…”

“Sleep together?” Erin’s voice is hard.

Holtz drops the wire in surprise, insides burning as she sneaks a glance at Erin. Is that all she ever wanted from her?

It wouldn’t be the first time.

“That’s not what I was going to say,” Holtz says, her own voice hard now. She sets her jaw and picks up the wire again, spinning it between her thumb and forefinger.

Erin fixes her gaze at a spot on the far wall as her stomach continues to plummet. “What were you going to say?”

“I thought we might go out,” Holtz says quietly. “Date. Be a couple.”

Erin blinks and tries not to cry. There’s no easy way to do this.

“We can’t,” she gets out.

Holtz nods sullenly. “I guess I misinterpreted our friendship.” She laughs hollowly. “Why can I never get this right?”

She sounds so upset. Erin’s heart hurts.

“That’s not what I meant,” she whispers. “You didn’t misinterpret anything. I did…want that.”

Holtz doesn’t miss the past tense. “Came to your senses, right?” she jokes flatly. “Everyone does. I’m not the kind of girl people want to date.”

“That’s not—” Erin closes her eyes and breathes evenly. “It’s not about you. It’s me, Holtz. It would never work.”

“Why?”

Erin’s voice shakes. “Because I’m not…normal.”

Holtz turns her head to look at her. “I don’t know what that means. There’s no such thing as normal.”

“I know. But there are…things that…relationships are supposed to have, and…” Erin hangs her head. “I don’t like those things.”

Holtz sets down the wire again, face screwing up in confusion. “I don’t do too well with vague statements like that. Can you tell me what you mean?”

There’s a long pause, and then Erin says in a very small voice, “Sex.”

Understanding dawns on Holtz. “You don’t like sex?”

Erin shakes her head, shame flooding through her. “There’s something wrong with me. Every person I’ve ever dated has walked away because of it. I’m broken.”

“We’re not broken,” Holtz says gently.

Erin looks up, staring back at her with big, watery eyes. “That’s why it would never work, Holtz. I’m sorry for leading you on.”

Holtz hesitates, collecting her words. “Erin,” she begins cautiously, licking her lips as she does so, “do you know what it means to be asexual?”

Erin’s brown furrows. “Like a plant?”

Holtz smiles. “No, like the sexual orientation.”

Erin’s frown deepens.

“Just like being bisexual or homosexual or heterosexual, you can be asexual,” Holtz explains. “It means you don’t experience sexual attraction.”

Erin’s hands fidget anxiously. “At all?”

“Everyone’s different. Some people experience romantic attraction but not sexual attraction, and for some people it’s the opposite—that’s known as being aromantic. Some people don’t experience either. Asexuality is generally considered a spectrum, and it can look different in everyone.”

Erin is silent.

“The most important thing,” Holtz continues, “is that it’s very common—and _normal._ It’s completely, 100% okay.”

Erin is quiet for a few more seconds, staring down at her hands, and then she looks up at Holtz. “You said _we._ You said ‘we’re not broken.’”

“I did say that.” Holtz takes a deep breath. “I’m ace, Er. Sorry, asexual. Often abbreviated as ace.” She clears her throat. “Which I am.”

Erin looks stunned. She blinks. “But…but you’re…”

“A lesbian? You can be both.”

“No, you—you’re so…” Erin shakes her head, her bangs falling in her face as she does so (she’s in desperate need of a haircut). “You’re so flirty, and…cocky. You just seem like…”

Holtz waits patiently for her to spit it out.

“You seem like you’re so experienced,” Erin finishes finally.

“Most girls think that,” Holtz says. “S’why I’ve never been in a real relationship. Always letting people down when I break the news.”

“I thought—you said it was okay, though?”

“It is okay,” Holtz says emphatically. “More than okay.” She hesitates. “Not everyone understands, though. Sometimes you just have to find the right person who does understand.”

They make eye contact for a moment, then both look away hurriedly.

“I’m sorry if I’m overstepping at all,” Holtz murmurs.

Erin feels a little sick. “No, not at all,” she says. “I just had no idea…”

“About me?”

“About…any of this.” She chews on her lip and looks at Holtz again. “It’s really a thing?”

“I promise,” Holtz says, crossing her heart for good measure. “You can even Google it. Although—I’d be careful about that one. Like I said, not everyone understands.”

They sit there quietly as Erin digests all this.

“I didn’t mean to put pressure on you or anything,” Holtz says. “If you feel like any of this resonates with you, like maybe you might be on the asexual spectrum, then that’s okay—more than okay—and I can help you come to terms with that or whatever you need. But if not, all I’m really getting at with this is that…if that’s what you were worried about, the pressure of sex, and that’s why you think we wouldn’t work…then you have nothing to worry about. It’s off the table with me. If there’s something else, well, we can talk about that, too.”

It’s Erin’s turn to hesitate. “No, that was…that was it.” Holtz’s words sink in. _If you feel like any of this resonates with you_. She feels something—relief. She’s not sure if it’s just a reaction to Holtz’s confession, or if it’s a reaction to the notion that she might not be broken after all—but it seeps through her, making it easier to breathe.

“I’m not sure where that leaves us,” Holtz says with a smile.

“Me neither,” Erin breathes. “I guess I’m…having a hard time seeing how this would look without…”

“It could look however we’d want it to look,” Holtz says. “Sex isn’t the only part of a relationship, nor is it the only way to be intimate with someone.”

“I guess,” Erin says, still struggling to picture it when every book, show, movie, and life experience she’s ever encountered has told her otherwise.

“How do you feel about kissing?”

“Um.” Erin swallows. “I…”

“Say no more,” Holtz says, still smiling softly. “Your face is very clear right now.”

“I’ve just never really enjoyed it,” Erin mumbles. “I don’t know. Is that…part of it?”

“Part of asexuality? Well, like I said, everyone’s different. If it’s part of you, that’s enough for me.”

“Do…do you like it?”

“Yeah, I do.” Holtz shrugs. “But I could take it or leave it, honestly. I’d leave it for you. Just so you know.”

“Really?”

“Absolutely,” Holtz says without a single hesitation. “What else? Touch?”

“I do like being touched,” Erin says, then feels her face heat up.

“Feeling like that sounded inherently sexual?” Holtz guesses.

Erin nods a little shamefully.

“Don’t worry,” Holtz says. “It didn’t. Not to me.” She smiles. “So, yes to touch. Cuddling? Hugs?”

Erin nods again, this time more eagerly. “Yes to both.”

Holtz grins. “Excellent.” She swivels on her stool to face Erin and holds her arms open. “C’mere.”

Erin’s heart thumps. “Right now?”

“Only if you want,” Holtz promises.

Erin shifts closer and lets Holtz pull her into a tight embrace, just holding her. Erin’s own arms find their way up Holtz’s back, and she inhales the scent of her.

“What does this mean?” she murmurs into Holtz’s shoulder.

“I’ll let you decide,” Holtz says. She pauses. “I know what I want.”

“What do you want?”

“I want to give this a shot. Us. And if you don’t—or you’re not ready—that’s okay. No pressure at all. But just so you know where my head is at, that’s what I want.”

Erin pauses, too. The answer comes easily to her.

“I want that too,” she says softly.

Holtz pulls back just enough to see Erin’s face, the scared determination set on it. “Really?” she asks, unable to keep the excitement from her voice.

Erin bites her lip and nods. “You make me feel…” She searches for the word, then it dawns on her. “Right. You make me feel _right._ ”

Holtz’s heart hums. She reaches up to brush Erin’s overgrown bangs from her forehead. “You have no idea how happy that makes me to hear you say that.” Her eyes drift up to where her hand is still lingering. “What about forehead kisses? Those also not your cup of tea?”

“I like those,” Erin says, blushing.

“Perfect,” Holtz says, stretching to press a kiss to Erin’s forehead and then a second one for good measure.

“Thank you,” Erin whispers, and she’s not sure if she means for the forehead kisses or for the whole conversation.

Holtz isn’t sure which one it is either, but in this moment, as she holds Erin close to her once more, she finds herself not minding at all.

They have all the time in the world to figure this out.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someone on Tumblr prompted asexual Holtz and/or Erin and I found myself wondering why I'd never explicitly written it into one of my fics before (despite easily being able to read either of them as ace), then I realized it has to do with my own very complicated feelings about identifying as ace (which I do). Anyway, writing this felt very therapeutic and 100% made me cry, so that right there was worth writing it and I hope someone else finds solace in it too


	7. Crush

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was trapped on a bus for two (2) hours this morning trying to get to work in a snow storm and ended up writing this prompt on my phone, so at least something productive came out of that hell?

“Erin, baby, you can't keep doing this.”

Holtz looks up from her work with interest at the sound of Patty's voice on the other side of the lab. Can't keep doing what?

“Look, I'm all for you and Holtzy getting together, but if this crush is going to keep affecting your work…”

Her…crush?

“It's not going to,” Erin protests. “I swear.”

She doesn't even deny the crush thing.

“You said that three weeks ago, but then there was that incident in the car…”

“It's not my fault that she's an unsafe driver at the best of times! Besides, we didn’t crash, so…there.”

“Then there was that bust you almost ruined last week.”

“I got distracted,” Erin mumbles. “She was…”

“Not wearing a shirt, I know.”

Holtz grins to herself at the memory.

Patty sighs. “But then with what happened this morning…”

“Again, not my fault! She accidentally starts fires all the time.”

“Yeah, and why do you think she's always startin’ them?”

“Reckless lab safety?” Erin guesses.

Patty snorts. “That's one way to put it.”

“Okay, fine,” Erin grumbles. “I guess I may have had a hand in the one this morning.”

Obviously she had a hand in it. She's wearing the cutest sweater today and Holtz has eyes. Not her fault.

“Time to deal with it,” Patty says. “This can't happen anymore. Be a big girl and do what you need to do.”

Then she stands up and Holtz can see her from the other side of the machine she's been hiding behind.

“Oh, hey, Holtzy,” Patty says, clicking her tongue with a smirk. “Fancy seeing you here.”

Holtz grins with realization. “Thanks, Patty,” she says with a salute.

She stands up from her chair to see Erin looking positively mortified.

“How long have you been sitting there?” she chokes out.

Holtz checks her watch. “Well, I haven't invented teleportation yet, so, uhhh…two hours? Maybe three.”

Erin turns crimson. “Patty was just kidding,” she blurts.

Holtz tilts her head and makes a face. “Was she, though?”

A pause. “No,” Erin says.

“Perfect,” Holtz says. “Now that that’s settled, you can kiss me.”

Erin balks. “Wait, what? Why?”

“Well, you have a crush on me, right? Isn't that the solution?”

“But…” Erin blinks. “Do you have a crush on me too?”

“Nah, I nearly blew up half the city this morning because my feelings for you are entirely platonic,” Holtz says with a straight face.

Erin bites her lip. “I can't tell if you're serious or not.”

“When am I _not_ serious, Erin dearest?”

“Always,” Erin says immediately. “Every second of every day.”

“ _Well,”_ Holtz says, holding a hand to her chest. “This is the first time I'm hearing of such a thing.”

“Holtzmann.”

“I'm serious!” Holtz grins. “I'm seriously serious. I swear. I've liked you since the second I laid eyes on you. How could I not?”

“Really?”

“Really really.”

“Your Shrek voice is not the way to convince me.”

Holtz crosses the lab and takes Erin's hands. “Do you trust me?”

“Almost never,” Erin says, then shakes her head. “That’s a lie. I do. Yes.”

“Then kiss me.”

Erin bites her lip.

And then she does.

 


	8. Gymnastics

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Holtz thinks it a great idea if they learn gymnastics...work reasons"
> 
> This is v short sorry

“Holtzmann, when you suggested that we enroll in gymnastic lessons to improve our agility, this is _not_ what I had in mind.”

“You’re doing great,” Holtz says with glee.

“Why are you making me do this? I _know_ how to somersault.”

“Do you, though?”

“ _Yes,_ Holtzmann.”

“Well, you know that I have every right to wonder when you have yet to do one.”

“I somersault all the time during busts,” Erin protests.

“Do you, though?”

“Stop saying that! It’s just…it’s a reflexive thing, alright? When we’re out in there in the heat of battle, it’s like my body just takes over and I’m doing things that I could never recreate if I _tried_. It’s an adrenaline thing, or something.”

“So you can’t somersault.”

“ _I can somersault.”_

“Prove it.”

Erin plants her hands on the mat in front of her and curls forward into a ball, forehead resting on the floor, and tries to will herself to move.

“You need me to push you?”

“ _No_ , Holtzmann.”

“Take all the time you need. Somersaults are hard.”

A minute passes before Erin sits back on her heels with a huff.

“Okay. I can’t somersault,” she says.

Holtz pats her on the back. “Acceptance is the first step.”

“I hate you.”

 


	9. Pantsuit

The event really isn’t important. It’s just a _thing_ that they have to go to, like all the _things_ that they’ve had to go to before. Holtz hates these things. She hates stuffy formal wear and place settings and one too many people glaring at her for her poor manners and making her well aware that she doesn’t belong.

But the mayor makes them go to these things, and even though Holtz always tries to get out of them, she always gets roped into going anyway. Even the time she claimed to have flesh-eating bacteria.

It’s not that she doesn’t like dressing up sometimes, but she dresses up on _her_ terms, when she wants to, and she wears what she wants to wear. A waistcoat from the men’s section of a thrift store. Slacks from a dumpster. A shirt in the worst shade of mustard yellow she’s ever seen. Shoes that she stole from her brother. She’s just as likely to wear a t-shirt and stretchy pants with a hole in the ass.

The others like dressing up. They always put on nice dresses and makeup and do their hair and take pictures together while Holtz tries to wipe grease off her cheek and make herself ‘presentable.’

This time, she’s _really_ not feeling it. She’s debating the merits of triggering a mild heart failure—she has a number of machines in the lab that would do the trick nicely. She’s wearing her busting jumpsuit tied at her waist, a graphic tee, her lab coat. She does not want to change.

There’s a recognizable throat clearing, and she looks up sullenly to see Erin, standing there in a navy blue pantsuit.

And Holtz’s mouth goes dry.

“Thought I’d shake things up this time,” Erin murmurs. “What do you think?”

Holtz thinks that Erin has quite possibly never looked better. She thinks that Erin is, and always will be, a stunning creature that has no business roaming the city when she looks that good. She thinks that she’s incredibly gay for a woman in a suit, especially a _confident_ woman in a suit, and Erin is wearing it well. Confidence, that is.

Confidence is a funny thing. Erin has only continued to gain it over the years, perhaps a side effect of having the coolest job in the world and getting to act like a badass every single day. Perhaps just Erin coming into her own.

However she got it, she rocks it. Just like she rocks that pantsuit. _Really_ rocks it.

“Holtz?” Erin tilts her head to the side with a dry smile. “Pick your chin up off the floor.”

“Sorry,” Holtz mutters. “You look very good. That’s a good look.”

“Thought you might like it.”

“You pick it out for me on purpose?”

“Maybe,” Erin says slyly. “Are you wearing that?”

She doesn’t sound judge-y. It’s an honest question.

“Mayor would kill me,” Holtz says.

“So? Wear what you want to wear.”

“A nice idea in theory,” Holtz mumbles. “I don’t even want to go.”

“You don’t have to.”

“But then I’d miss seeing you in that pantsuit all night,” Holtz says, “and that would be a damn shame, all things considered.”

“You sure know how to flatter a girl.”

“Can you find me something to wear?”

Erin strides over to Holtz’s closet and begins picking through the rack. She holds up a button-up shirt, a deep purple. Little stripes. “What about this?”

Holtz flops backwards onto her bed, which she’s been sitting on the edge of.

“Not feeling anything with a constricting collar tonight,” she says. “Something comfy, please.”

“Don’t wear a shirt then.”

“I think that might be frowned upon, actually,” Holtz cracks. She sits back up.

Erin smiles. “Blazer buttoned up. No shirt. You’d be perfectly presentable.”

Holtz considers it. “I don’t think I can pull that look off.”

“I think you really can,” Erin says. She looks her up and down. “I _really_ think you can. Trust me.”

“If you say so,” Holtz says. “Pants?”

“You have to wear those, yes. Unfortunately.”

“Dammit,” Holtz says with a smile.

“Dammit indeed,” Erin says. “Come here.”

Holtz peels herself off the bed and shuffles across the carpet of her bedroom reluctantly. She takes Erin’s blazer in her hands and rocks back on her heels.

Erin places a finger under her chin, tilting her head up. “It’s yours. Did you really not notice?”

“That’s not mine,” Holtz says immediately, then looks it over with closer scrutiny. “Is it?”

“Back of your closet,” Erin says.

“Shit, I remember now. That’s a deep cut, Gilbert. I don’t think I’ve worn that in years.”

“It’s mine now, then,” Erin says.

Holtz’s knees are weak. “You got it. You wear it much better than I ever did.”

Erin leans in to kiss her deeply. “Thank you,” she says against her lips after a minute.

“Please wear my clothes more often,” Holtz says, head spinning like it always does when Erin kisses her.

“I’m _trying,”_ Erin breathes.

Holtz swallows. “Ditch the gala with me.”

Erin raises her eyebrows. “I thought you wanted to see me in this pantsuit for the rest of the night.”

“Honestly? I’d rather see you _not_ in that pantsuit. I’d rather see that pantsuit on the floor.”

Erin leans back in, kisses her way up her neck. “What would the mayor think?” she says by Holtz’s ear, cool breath tickling the sensitive skin there.

“Fuck the mayor,” Holtz says, voice shaky.

Erin pulls back enough for Holtz to see her lips twist.

“Don’t fuck the mayor,” Holtz says.

“Wasn’t planning on it,” Erin says, voice low, husky. She _knows_ what that voice does to Holtz.

They miss the gala, needless to say.

Holtz does not care one fucking bit.

 


	10. Dream Wedding

“I kind of want it to be small,” Erin muses.

“Same.”

“I never really pictured a big wedding. Guess I never really thought I’d have a lot of people to invite.”

“Small is good,” Holtz confirms, tracing a hand up and down Erin’s bare arm. “Intimate.”

Erin smiles. “It could really be anywhere. Any location.”

“Back of a boat.”

“Okay, not _any_ location.”

“Cemetery.”

“No, Holtz.”

“Ghosts, though?”

“We don’t need ghosts. We see enough ghosts every day of our lives.”

“Not party ghosts.”

“We don’t need those, either.”

Holtz kisses her neck. “When?”

“Spring? Spring weddings are nice.”

“Mmm.”

“Summer is lovely, but can be too warm…we don’t want to roast.”

“Definitely not.”

“Not a fan of winter. Autumn has perks.”

“So, any season.”

“Not winter.”

“Not winter.”

Erin snuggles closer, running her hand up Holtz’s back. “Will you wear a suit?”

“Do you want me to wear a suit?”

“God yes,” Erin breathes.

Holtz kisses her forehead. “I’ll wear a suit. Can’t make any colour and/or pattern promises.”

“That’s okay.”

“You don’t want a perfect matching colour scheme? You haven’t already _picked_ a colour scheme?”

“No,” Erin says. “I don’t care. None of that matters. Marrying you, that’s all that’s important.”

They lie there silently.

Then, abruptly, there’s a flurry of movement and they both scramble in the bed to look at each other.

“Oh, shit,” Holtz says.

“I think we’ve forgotten something,” Erin says.

Holtz grabs Erin’s left hand and holds it up to the light, rotating it back and forth. “Yep. Just as I suspected: I definitely haven’t proposed. Have you?”

“No, I really haven’t. I completely forgot about that step.”

Holtz laughs. “Well fuck.”

“Damn it to hell,” Erin says. “Well, I guess the wedding is off.”

“Unlessss…”

Erin smiles. “Unless.”

“Count of three?”

Erin nods eagerly. “One. Two.” She lifts her chin. “Three,” she whispers.

“Marry me?” they both say at the same time.

They smile dopily at each other.

“There,” Holtz says, “problem solved.”

“You didn’t say yes.”

“Neither did you. Do you want me to say yes?”

“Yes.”

“Was that _your_ yes, or you telling me yes you want me to say yes?”

“ _Yes._ ”

“Well that settles that,” Holtz says, grinning. “Yeah, you beautiful nerd. Yeah, I’ll marry you. No questions asked. 100%. Yeppers. Yes sir. Hell yep. Yesssss.”

Erin runs a finger down the slope of Holtz’s nose. “Love you.”

“Love _you.”_ Holtz cracks her knuckles. “ _Now._ Let’s get back to planning our dream wedding.”

 


	11. Dessert

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one will give you cavities

Of all the secret talents that Erin could see Holtz having, _this_ was not one of them.

She sits at the counter in Holtz’s spectacularly gorgeous kitchen (a surprise in itself), spellbound, unable to take her eyes off Holtz for even a moment. The engineer is piping perfect grey circles on a sheet tray, so uniform in size and spacing that it’s like she’s measuring with a precision ruler. She holds the fat piping bag expertly in her hands, squeezing with just the right amount of pressure, lifting the tip at exactly the right moment. Working so quickly that Erin can only stare in disbelief.

“Who _are_ you?” she murmurs.

Holtz looks up with a smirk and winks, piping another equally-as-perfect one without even looking.

“Now you’re just showing off,” Erin says.

When Holtz is done filling the sheet, she sets the piping bag aside and taps the tray on the counter, settling the batter and releasing the air bubbles, then she puts the whole tray aside to dry out and starts on another one, not stopping until she’s used up all the batter.

She sings as she works, mashing up no less than a dozen songs of varying genres. Erin watches this whole performance with an affectionate smile.

Next comes baking, a relatively short step compared to the laborious mixing of ingredients before. While the sheets cool, Holtz prepares a batch of buttercream.

She reaches across the counter with her spatula to swipe a bit of the frosting on Erin’s nose. Erin giggles and wipes it off with her thumb, then tastes it.

“Good?” Holtz asks.

Erin nods. “Incredible.”

Holtz smiles. She divides the buttercream into three bowls and pulls out a set of gel food dyes. She dyes the bulk of the frosting a pale grey and adds a dark, familiar-smelling powder that she won’t disclose to Erin. She put it in the batter, too. Erin can’t quite place the scent.

The next bowl of frosting becomes a rich, deep red. The last bowl she leaves white.

She covers the grey and white bowls and pushes them aside, and then fills another piping bag with the red. She fits it with a thin, flat tip.

“I made my own tips,” Holtz says. “Can you tell?”

Erin leans forward. “Really?”

“None of those mass-produced perfect tips for me,” Holtz says wryly. “I’m good with metal. How could I not?”

She pulls out another piece of metal, a small round disk with a rod coming out of it. Erin watches as she cuts a little piece of parchment paper and lies it over the flat end of the disk, then holds it by the stem and picks up the piping bag with her other hand.

She begins piping—quick, small strokes—and spins the disk with her fingers as she does so.

It’s over in seconds, and then she slides the parchment paper off the disk and onto the counter in front of Erin.

Erin gasps and leans closer.

It’s a rose—a tiny, microscopic, perfect rose. No bigger than the size of her pinkie nail.

“That’s incredible, Holtz,” she breathes.

Holtz starts over with a new square of parchment, a new rose equally as perfect as the first. On and on and on. Dozens of them. She periodically transfers sheets of them to the freezer.

Erin watches, completely captivated, for nearly an hour. Every time is just as breathtaking as the first.

Finally, Holtz sets the piping bag down and stretches. She stands in front of one of the trays she baked earlier and gently feels to see if they’re cooled down now. She says they have to be cooled completely before the next step.

She must be satisfied, because she returns to her other two bowls of frosting and fills two more piping bags, the grey one with a fairly big round tip, the white one with a teeny tiny round tip. She twists them closed expertly and throws a tea towel over her shoulder, probably just for show.

Then she picks up one of the baked disks and flips it over. She picks up the grey frosting and pipes a dollop directly in the centre.

Then she retrieves one of the sheets of tiny roses from the freezer and produces a set of metal tweezers out of seemingly nowhere.

Her tongue pokes between her teeth in concentration, brow furrowed as she carefully picks up each rose one-by-one and places them around the circumference of the frosting dollop, facing out. She has the steadiest hands that Erin has ever seen—a fact that she’s always known from seeing the engineer at work, which is a beautiful sight in its own way. She’s never seemed so _gentle_ , though.

Once the circle of roses joins up, Holtz picks up another half and lightly places it on top, sandwiching it just enough that it sticks.

Finally, she exchanges her piping bag for the thin-tipped white one. She holds the dessert out of view for a few seconds, adding something, then turns and oh-so-carefully sets the finished product in front of Erin.

“Earl Grey macaron,” she says softly, proudly.

Erin’s breath is taken away.

It’s _stunning_.

The last detail, an elegant, swooping bow, thin as the tip of a pencil, adjourned to the top.

“It’s _me,_ ” Erin breathes, trying not to cry. Earl Grey, her favourite tea. Grey, her favourite colour. Red roses, her favourite flowers. The _bow_.

“You like it?”

“It’s beautiful, Holtz,” Erin manages to get out, choked up. “I had no idea…”

“That I could bake with the best of them?”

That’s not what Erin was going to say at all.

What she was going to say that she had no idea Holtz knew her that well. She’s been _paying attention_.

The care, the attention to detail, the tenderness with which she assembled this gorgeous creation. It’s not baking—it’s art. It’s love.

It’s her soul, bare.

So Erin pulls Holtz across the counter by the strap of her apron and kisses her.

She tastes sweet, like the buttercream she’s been tasting. She’s clearly surprised, but relaxes into her, hand coming up to cradle Erin’s face.

She can feel her smiling.

Erin kisses her once more, sweetly, then sits back, letting go of her apron.

Holtz’s eyes are soft. There’s powdered sugar on her cheek. “That was new. What was that for?”

“A thank you,” Erin says, blushing and ducking her head.

“Well, shit,” Holtz says, smiling, “if I’d known it was gonna impress you that much, I would’ve done this ages ago.”

Erin leans down over the macaron, too scared to even touch it. “This is too pretty to eat.”

“That’s not going to be a problem I have with you, right?” Holtz winks suggestively. “I sure hope not. I’d be heartbroken.”

Erin blushes at the obvious innuendo. “No,” she says, face heating up further, no doubt the colour of the roses now.

“Excellent,” Holtz says with a wide grin. She nods her head down at the macaron. “Go ahead. I’m gonna make loads more.”

Erin hesitates, then picks it up carefully. She inspects it for another moment before biting into it.

She immediately lets out a little gasp.

“How is it?”

“Incredible,” Erin says, finishing the second half in one bite, not even able to take a pause to savour it because it’s just _so good_. “These are amazing, Holtz. You’re so talented.”

“Anything to make you happy, Gilbert,” Holtz says. “Now get back over here. I think the rest of these puppies can wait for a bit while we do a little…taste-testing.”

How is Erin supposed to resist _that?_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have been craving macarons for DAYS ugh (and watching too many youtube tutorials) and this design popped into my head and I knew I had to write whatever this is
> 
> A [visual reference](https://www.instagram.com/p/BfMCMWYh_qW/) for the roses in case you've never seen this technique or can't picture it! 
> 
> Anyway, does anyone wanna bring me some macarons because I'd sell my firstborn for one right now


	12. Secret Santa

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: I know it’s only November but can you write a fic where the ghostbusters have a secret Santa and holtzmann gets Erin and Erin gets holtzmann.

It’s their third Christmas together as a team, and they’ve formed a tradition of doing a Secret Santa exchange between the five of them.

Holtz isn’t particularly great at gift-giving. She’s known for her gag gifts—last year she got Kevin, and gave him a toilet brush. The year before that, she got Patty, and gave her a novelty 4-foot wine glass.

She always _wants_ to give nice, thoughtful, personal gifts, but she’s just really, really bad at it. So she takes the easy route out. Gives everyone a good laugh. She does that for a lot of things.

But this year—this year she drew Erin’s name.

She can’t give Erin a joke gift. She just _can’t_.

So she does what she always does when she’s bad at something—she copies someone else. Someone she trusts.

She’s twisting her hands nervously as Erin pulls the box out a gift bag. She’s bad at wrapping, too. Gift bags were made for people like her.

Erin runs her nail along the edge of the box to break the tape, then lifts the lid. She pushes aside the tissue paper that the store supplied.

“Oh! A teapot! It’s lovely,” she says.

They’re not allowed to reveal who got who until after all the gifts have been opened, so Holtz sits on her hands and resists the urge to tell Erin to open the lid of the teapot.

Erin lifts the card out of the side of the box and flips it over to read the instructions on the front to _open later_. She glances at Holtz momentarily, maybe recognizing her handwriting, and then puts it back in the box.

“Thank you,” she says happily, and then goes to close the box again.

“Um—” Holtz starts to say, but she’s interrupted by the phone ringing.

The four of them turn to look at it. Kevin doesn’t.

“Hey, Kev, you wanna go answer that?”

“Can’t, we’re opening presents.”

Patty sighs. “I’ll do it.”

She picks herself up off the couch and strides over to Kevin’s desk.

“Ghostbusters, Patty speaking,” she says. There’s a long pause as she listens to whoever is on the other end. “Okay,” she says finally. “What’s the address?”

Abby groans and sets her wrapped gift back on the floor. “We better get suited up.”

“You don’t know that we have to go,” Holtz protests. They can’t leave, not in the middle of Secret Santa. Not when Erin hasn’t opened her present all the way.

Erin sets down the teapot box as well. “Don’t worry, Holtz, we’ll just finish this later.”

Patty hangs up the phone. “We got a dead one, folks. It sounds bad. We gotta move.”

Abby gives Holtz an _I told you so_ look.

Holtz runs her tongue along her teeth in frustration as she puts her own unopened gift back under their scraggly tree and goes to change into her jumpsuit. Normally she’s the first one out the door for busts, but tonight she’s dragging her heels.

Soon, the four of them are racing across town in the Ecto, which is outfitted with Christmas lights on the roof (probably unsafely, but hey, it’s festive).

“Thank you so much for coming,” says the elderly woman who called. She lets them inside. “I hope I didn’t ruin your Christmas Eve.”

“Hey, we know ghosts don’t care about major holidays,” Abby says merrily. “You made the right call. Don’t worry, we’ll be in and out before you know it.”

 

They’re not.

It’s been _hours_ , and they still haven’t caught the bugger. It’s like he’s hell-bent on drawing this out as long as possible. Ruining their night. Ruining _Holtz’s_ night.

Finally, _finally_ , they manage to wrangle him into a trap. The woman tries to pay them, but they all shake their heads tiredly.

“Christmas special,” Erin reassures her.

The woman thanks them a billion times and sends them off with their hands full of baked goods.

Holtz eats a sugar cookie as she drives them back to the firehouse. It’s almost 11pm now. Patty’s asleep and snoring, head against her window.

They stumble, exhausted, back into the firehouse. Kevin has gone home in their absence.

Holtz loads the trap into the containment unit and transfers the ghost.

When she gets back, Patty has changed back into her regular clothes and is wearing her coat.

“Aren’t we finishing Secret Santa?” Holtz asks, voice squeaky.

“Baby, it’s so late,” Patty says apologetically. “We can finish it later.”

Holtz licks her lips. “But…but we’re not spending tomorrow together.”

“We’ll be back here on Boxing Day,” Abby says, also pulling on her coat. “We can finish then.”

“But—”

Erin touches her arm. “It’s okay,” she says gently. “It’s not a big deal.”

Holtz slumps in resignation. “Fine,” she mumbles. “I’m gonna stick around here for a while, though.”

“Don’t stay too late,” Abby warns. “I don’t want to hear that you ended up spending Christmas here working.”

Holtz smiles despite herself. She doesn’t have any family in the city, so it’s very possible. “I won’t,” she promises.

Abby and Patty hug everyone goodbye.

“You coming, Erin?” Abby asks.

Erin wrings her hands. “I’ll head out in a bit.”

“Well, _I’m_ leaving,” Patty announces. “Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas,” everyone echoes.

Abby and Patty leave, shutting the door heavy behind them, and then it’s just Erin and Holtz.

Holtz throws herself onto the couch with a forlorn sigh, still wearing her jumpsuit from the bust.

Erin sits down as well, gingerly, on the edge of the couch. She also hasn’t changed out of her jumpsuit. There’s a little bit of slime smeared across her chest, just over her name. Not tons—the ghost wasn’t very ecto-projection-y, mercifully.

“Why don’t you open your gift?” Erin asks softly.

“I think my Secret Santa would be bummed if they missed my reaction,” Holtz says.

“I think it would actually make her very happy if you opened it now,” Erin says.

Holtz raises an eyebrow, smile spreading across her face. “Did you get me too?”

Erin smiles as well. “ _Too?”_

Holtz clears her throat. “Did you like your teapot?”

“I loved it,” Erin says. “It’s…not what I would’ve expected from you.”

“Well, you missed the best part,” Holtz says. “It comes with bonus gifts.”

Erin raises her own eyebrows, now, and eagerly pulls the box into her lap again.

“Go on, open it,” Holtz says.

Erin pries off the tape that’s holding down the teapot lid and carefully opens it.

“Oh my god,” she breathes as she picks through the mementos inside. “I can’t believe you saved all this.” She pulls out a paperclip. “Is this from that time we spent all afternoon trying to throw paperclips into a mug on Kevin’s desk?”

“I still can’t believe he drank one of them.”

Erin laughs. Holtz loves the sound of her laugh.

She pulls out a tiny vial of a recognizable green substance. “Why is there ectoplasm in here?”

“Not just any ectoplasm,” Holtz says. “I took that off your person. The first time you ever got slimed. At the Aldridge Mansion. Remember? I saved some to study in the lab?”

Erin holds the vial up to the light and tilts it back and forth. “And you _still_ have it?”

“It’s sentimental slime,” Holtz explains. “That was the day we met. If we hadn’t seen a ghost that day, and you hadn’t got slimed…”

Erin holds the vial close to her heart. “Thank you, Holtz,” she says. “This whole thing is…so thoughtful. I feel so stupid now. I just got you socks.”

Holtz lights up. “I love socks,” she says, excitedly tearing the (perfectly wrapped) paper off her gift to reveal two pairs of novelty socks. “Yessssss. These are awesome, Erin.”

Erin smiles as Holtz rips open the packaging and puts on one sock of each pattern, wiggling her toes and admiring them.

“Thank you,” she says. “I love them.”

They sit in companionable silence, the only light in the room coming from the soft coloured lights on the tree and the (less festive) flashing lights of the containment unit in the back corner.

“Can I open this now?” Erin says suddenly.

Holtz looks over to see her holding the envelope.

She swallows. “Okay,” she says, because unlike Jim Halpert, she’s not chickening out. She turns her eyes back to the tree, heart beating fast in her chest.

Silence except for the whir of machines and the sound of an envelope tearing open and the card sliding out.

She keeps her gaze fixed on the tree, listening.

A few minutes pass. There were a lot of words.

She hears Erin’s breath hitch.

She has a good idea what words she just got to.

There’s a long pause, and then Erin touches her arm again. “Holtz…”

“You don’t,” Holtz says through gritted teeth, “have to say anything.”

“What if I want to say something?”

Holtz shifts her jaw. “Okay.”

“Can you look at me?”

“No.”

“Okay. That’s okay.” Erin inhales. “Thank you. For telling me.”

This sounds an awful lot like it’s winding up to be a rejection. She’s heard this before. _Thank you, but no. You’re sweet, but I’m not interested. I’m glad you told me, but now we can’t be friends anymore._

Okay, she actually hasn’t heard the last one. Yet.

“How long have…you felt this way?”

“Does it matter?”

“Yes,” Erin whispers.

Holtz pauses. “See that vial of ectoplasm?”

She doesn’t finish the sentence. She knows it’s enough of an answer.

Erin sucks in another breath. “ _Oh_.”

There’s a pause.

“I was kind of hoping it was more recent,” Erin mumbles. “So I could feel less guilty.”

“Guilty about what?” Holtz asks dully.

“About not telling you how I felt sooner. _Years_ ago.”

Holtz sighs. “You don’t need to tell me how you feel, Er. I know.”

“You…do?”

“You’re straight. You’re not interested. You don’t like me like that and never could. I _know_. I just…had to tell you anyway,” she finishes quietly.

“That’s not how I feel,” Erin says, just as quietly.

Holtz goes very still.

Erin’s hand moves from her arm to her face, fingertips grazing her cheek.

Holtz swallows. Her eyes dart sideways, but she doesn’t turn her head. Erin’s face is unreadable.

“How do you feel?” she manages to get out, barely any volume in her voice at all.

“Guilty,” Erin repeats, “that I couldn’t be the brave one. That _years_ have gone by, and we…we could have…” She falls silent. “Can you look at me?” she asks again, voice bare.

Holtz looks at her.

And Erin kisses her. Scrambling forward, awkward, fumbling. Her hand curving around Holtz’s cheek. Her lips chapped from the cold. Her hair coming out of its ponytail from the bust. Their teeth clacking together.

It’s not beautiful, not something out of a Hallmark movie, not a picture-perfect moment; it’s a mess.

It’s everything Holtz ever wanted.

She hooks an arm sloppily around Erin and pulls her closer, both of them falling backwards against the couch.

There’s a crash.

They spring apart. Erin nearly falls on the floor. Holtz catches her.

They both look down to see the teapot shattered into at least a dozen pieces on the floor.

Erin covers her mouth with her hand. “Oh my god, Holtz. Oh my god. I’m so sorry.” Her eyes well with tears.

Holtz captures her wrist and gently tugs her hand from her face. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll buy you a new one.”

“But it was so _special.”_

Holtz reaches to pull a gob of slime from Erin’s hair that she didn’t notice earlier. “The teapot wasn’t the important part.”

Erin bites her lip, some of her tears spilling over, and nods.

Holtz checks her watch. “Hey. It’s after midnight. Merry Christmas, Erin.”

“Merry Christmas, Holtz,” Erin whispers.

And then they’re kissing again.

Holtz should really send a gift to the writers of _The Office_.

(Or not: she’s not exactly known for her gift-giving abilities).

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was going to hold off on writing this prompt until December because I'm That Person but then I watched this episode of the Office today and I got this idea and I was like screw it I'm writing it now. Christmas Eve is only a month away now (yikes), so it's fine, right?


	13. Other Half

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Erin or Holtz breaking their leg (or arm! or bonus, both!) on the job and Erin or Holtz volunteering to take care of the other, leading to them getting together."
> 
> Both? Both is good. ;)

How they got here isn’t important.

“You guys are the actual stupidest,” Abby says with an irritated sigh as she signs her name on the discharge papers. “The _stupidest_.”

The hospital bustles around them. One of the more star-struck nurses lingers outside the door, ready to take them outside.

Erin’s head is turned, eyes glazed over as she stares at the wall of the room from her wheelchair. “Who decided hospitals should be painted like sadness?”

She’s a little stoned. More so than Holtz, who isn’t a fan of painkillers and has refused everything since regaining consciousness.

Holtz slides down in her own wheelchair and gazes at the ceiling. “Satan. Satan decided that.”

Erin giggles. “Hey, Abby?”

Abby ignores her. “Okay, let’s get out of here.”

“Hey, Abby? Erin giggles again. “Abby?”

“Oh my god, _what?_ ”

There’s a long pause as Erin tries to get a hold of herself. She points at Holtz. “Holtzmann is my other half.”

Holtz grins sloppily. She likes the sound of that.

Abby rolls her eyes.

“No, do you get it?” Erin continues to point at her, still giggling. “I broke my leg, and Holtz broke her arm. But if you put us together, we have four working limbs! We’re a whole person!”

“You actually have six—”

“Oh my _god,_ ” Holtz interrupts. “Erin. Erin. Erin, we can _do this_. You can be my hands, and I can be your legs!”

“ _Yes!_ ” Erin shouts.

Abby presses her fingers to her temple. “Patty better have the car running.”

A couple nurses come in to push them out to the front, where Patty is indeed waiting with the hearse. The fangirling nurse loves it, and the other one is a killjoy and looks like they’ve committed a crime by bringing a hearse to a hospital.

“How are the heroes?” Patty says dryly as she comes to help Erin hobble the last few steps to the car with her crutches after the killjoy nurse dumped her out of the wheelchair. “Jump off any balconies lately?”

“We didn’t _jump_ , we _fell_ ,” Holtz says. “Can I drive home?”

“No,” Abby, Patty, and the killjoy nurse say at the same time.

“We didn’t fall, we were pushed,” Erin corrects. “By a ghost,” she stage-whispers.

“You jumped.” Abby shoves Holtz into the backseat of the hearse like she’s been arrested. “The two of you were too busy flirting to notice anything around you, and charged off the edge trying to catch a ghost. _Both of you_. Idiots.”

“Who removes the railing off their balcony to renovate it?” Holtz whines.

“Who renovates their balcony and doesn’t tell their ghost exterminators?” Erin mumbles.

Patty gets into the driver’s seat and starts the car. “You’ll be happy to know that Mrs. Shnelldorf has graciously offered to pay all medical bills plus ten thousand each for emotional damages, in exchange for not suing her.”

“My emotional damage is worth at _least_ fifteen,” Holtz says.

“Emotional damage, or brain damage?” Abby says under her breath.

 

Abby and Patty help them up to the third floor of the firehouse, and then leave them there. Abby goes home after muttering how she already dealt with the entire hospital stay. Patty stays to work, with instructions to call her upstairs if they need anything.

“We’re self-sufficient,” Holtz says. “I’m going to be Erin’s legs, and she’s going to be my hands.” She tsks. “It’s not going to be easy. My hands are my best feature.”

Erin snorts from the couch. Holtz smirks at her.

Patty snaps her fingers in front of Holtz’s face. “Ey. Focus. Don’t go breaking all your other limbs because you’re being dumb and trying to help each other.”

Holtz holds her left hand over her heart, resting it on her sling. “Why, we would never!”

“I’m watching you,” Patty says, and then goes downstairs.

She’s been gone for two seconds when Erin looks at Holtz.

“I have to pee.”

“Okay, okay, okay, okay, we got this.” Holtz stands in front of the couch and offers up her free hand.

Erin grabs hold of it and uses her other hand to push herself up off the couch, steadying herself for a moment. “Where’s that crutch?”

“I’m right here, baby,” Holtz says with a woot.

“…Okay, so we’re hopping?”

“Like little vicodin rabbits!”

“Wait, are the rabbits made of vicodin? Or _on_ vicodin?”

“You tell me.”

They hop-shuffle in the direction of the bathroom…

And make it five feet before Erin trips over Holtz and both of them go tumbling.

Holtz twists as they fall, trying to absorb the impact so Erin doesn’t, and ends up coming down on her left shoulder. Erin reaches out with her hands to brace her fall. They both land with a thud.

There’s a moment of silence.

“ _What did you do?”_ Comes Patty’s voice thundering up the stairs.

Erin rolls to her good side and flexes her wrist. “I think I sprained something,” she whispers.

“Don’t worry, it was just your dignity,” Holtz whispers back.

Another pause, and they both start giggling.

Patty reaches the top of the stairs. “How did you get on the _floor?”_

“Not important,” they both say at the same time.

And then they start giggling again.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a mess and I intentionally bastardized your prompt but hey my only goal was to break my writer's block by writing SOMETHING and it worked! Sorry for being six months late writing this one lol


	14. Jealous

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt from 2016 that has literally been in my inbox on Tumblr since then: "read your holtzbert fic on ao3 that was all jealous!Erin and I was wondering if you would do one with a jealous Holtzy"

“Does she have to flirt like that in front of me?”

Patty’s face softened. “Oh, Holtzy. I don’t think—can you put the knife down?—I don’t think she’s doing it on purpose, baby.”

Holtz continued to strike the blade of her Swiss Army knife against her makeshift sharpener. “I know. That’s why it hurts.”

Erin’s laughter rang loud across the arcade, drowning out the noises of the machines and rowdy kids. She twirled her hair around her finger and squeezed the tattooed bicep of the woman she was talking to over by the claw game.

“Should I get a tattoo?” Holtz mused.

“No.” Patty tugged the knife from her unrelenting hands. “And I told you to stop that—you’re going to get us kicked out.”

“Careful with that. _Someone_ has to care about its importance.”

Patty’s mouth twisted as she slipped the knife into her purse. “She’s pretty oblivious, I’ll give you that. Beats me why she thought it was a loaner.”

“How much clearer could I get? Knife. Gay.” Holtz weighed the two words in her hands and then smooshed them together like assembling a sandwich. “What did I need to do, wrap it in tissue paper and stick a bow on top?”

There’s another burst of laughter. Erin’s bony fingers are still wrapped around the woman’s sleeve, her head bent close.

Holtz mashed her lips together. “Hey, where’s one of those hunting simulators? Let’s go shoot something.”

Patty caught her by the back of her jacket to stop her. “Nope.” She shook her head. “Green is not a good colour on you, baby.”

Holtz shoved her hands in her pockets. “This is the first I’m hearing of this. I wear green literally all the time—what happened to your favourite pastime, brutal fashion honesty?”

“Okay, that’s definitely not what I meant, and also—I gave up on that when you kept ignoring my advice and wearing all the ugly shit you pick out of dumpsters anyway.”

“Well, that’s just a matter of taste.”

“Nope. Nuh uh. There are some things that are universally terrible, and you can’t defend your choice to wear a 70s shag carpet as a sweater.”

“Patricia, I am, how do I put this, a lesbian—”

The thing _smells,_ Holtzmann.”

Holtz waved her off and leaned down on the chair of the racing game in front of her. “That one caught fire in the lab last Tuesday anyway. Went up in two seconds flat. Needed the chemical shower to put it out.”

“Who’s surprised,” Patty muttered.

Holtz turned her attention back to Erin, only to find that the tattooed woman was gone, and the great oblivious love of her life was walking towards them with one arm behind her back.

“What, you’re not going home with her?” Holtz said, a little (a lot) bitterly.

Erin blinked in surprise. “Who, Debbie?”

Holtzmann raised her eyebrow and exchanged a quick, amused look with Patty. “ _Debbie?_ ”

Erin’s eyes narrowed, but she was smiling. “Don’t be mean.”

“No, it’s a lovely name,” Holtz said, grinning. “I had a great-great-aunt named Debbie.”

Erin swatted her arm. “She’s the manager here. I was getting her opinion on how I should spend my tickets.” She withdrew her other arm from behind her back to reveal hundreds upon hundreds of tickets folded haphazardly.

Holtz’s jaw dropped. “You did _not_ win those. Erin ‘Tetris is a Video Game’ Gilbert did not win those organically. _Cheater_.”

Erin rolled her eyes. “Tetris _is_ a video game, Holtz.”

“You know what I mean. Patty? Back me up.”

“Nope, I’m staying out of this.” Patty began inching away.

“Hey, I said ‘back me up,’ not ‘back up’—get back here!”

“I can’t hear you, the Whac-A-Mole is too loud,” Patty called.

Holtz grumbled and turned back to Erin, appraising the tickets in her hand. “So what, did you pay for those?” Her eyes widened. “Wait. _Wait_. Erin Gilbert. Did you _flirt with that woman so she would give you tickets?_ ”

Erin blushed. “ _Holtz_. Of course not.”

“You did. You totally did.” Holtz shook her head in amazement. “I’m actually kind of impressed. I didn’t know you had it in you.”

“I _didn’t_.”

“Sure, sure.”

“I wasn’t even flirting with her,” Erin said, dipping her head to hide her reddening face.

“Uh huh. So what are you going to get with your dirty winnings?”

Erin seemed to blush more at the word. “Can you come help me pick a prize?”

Holtz peeled herself up off the racing game. “Of course. That’s what I was born to do.”

Erin smiled, but looked nervous as they made their way over to the prize desk.

“How many do you have?”

“Eight hundred,” Erin replied.

They stepped up to the counter and Holtz swept her gaze across the back wall, pausing briefly on the massive stuffed ghost positioned a little too close to the counter with a 8 _00 Tickets_ sign taped beside it.

“What should we get?” she asked, trying to keep her voice steady, even as her stomach flipped.

“Do you, um, see anything that looks good?” Erin had a particular pitch to her voice that Holtz had never heard before.

“That penguin is cool.” Holtz pointed.

A pause. “Or maybe that ghost?” Erin squeaked.

Holtz hummed, heart thumping, and looked down into the glass display case. “Or we could get 160 glow-in-the-dark plastic lizards.”

Silence. She snuck a glance at Erin.

“Or the ghost?” Holtz hazarded.

Erin bit her lip and nodded.

They handed the 800 tickets across the counter in exchange for the ghost, which Erin promptly thrusted at Holtz.

“It’s for you,” she said quickly.

Holtz thumbed the little yellow goggles adorning the top of the ghost’s head. Her mouth ticked up. “Reeeaaally?”

Erin, still biting her lip, nodded. “Ithinkthere’sanotemaybe?”

Holtz fished it out from the red bow circling the ghost’s neck and raised an eyebrow at Erin.

Heart still pounding in her throat, she weaseled it open with one hand and gave it the briefest look ever.

_I love you_.

She looked up. “Man, arcade prizes are getting real quality nowadays. When I was a kid, it was all crap.”

Erin shifted back and forth.

“Did your girlfriend Debbie put this out there for you?” Holtz cracked. “That’s gay, Gilbert.”

Erin looked terrified.

Holtz faltered, opened and closed her mouth, tried to reel it in and stop deflecting. She looked down at the ghost. “Uhhhh…”

“This was such a stupid idea,” Erin said. “I shouldn’t have—Patty said—”

“ _Patty_ said?” Holtz’s head whirled to see Patty watching them unscrupulously from behind the basketball game. “I—”

Erin shook her head rapidly. “Here, I can take it back—it was stupid—let’s just pretend that—”

Holtz yanked the stuffed ghost away from Erin’s outstretched hand. “What? No.”

Erin looked pained. “It was just a joke.”

Holtz took a step back. “It was?”

“No—crap, no.” Erin looked at her feet. “No, it wasn’t, but if you want it to be, then—”

“No,” Holtz nearly shouted. “I don’t want—I don’t—” She looked down at the ghost— “I love it.”

Erin peeked up at her. “You do?”

“Yeah, I—” Holtz scratched her neck. “This is the coolest arcade prize ever. And uh, ditto.”

“Ditto?”

“Yeah. You know.” Holtz nodded down at the ghost. “Ditto.”

A smile spread on Erin’s face. “Hey, um, would you want to maybe…get dinner or something?”

“Absotootely.” Holtz hooked her thumb behind her. “There are 50-cent hotdogs in the back corner?”

“Also E. coli,” Erin said. “Let’s just get out of here.”

Holtz grinned.

“That’s my bitch,” Patty called from behind the basketball game, hands cupped around her mouth. The kid shooting hoops in front of her glared at her for breaking his focus.

Holtz sent a salute in her direction without looking, and extended her elbow for Erin to take, tucking the ghost under her other arm.

“Hey, do you think I should get a tattoo?” she asked as they walked from the arcade.

Erin gave her a look. “A _tattoo?_ You made me hold your hand when you got your _flu shot_ , Holtz.”

Holtz chuckled. “Oh, Erin. Have you ever heard of this concept of ‘ulterior motives’?”

Erin giggled, squeezing Holtz’s arm.

 

 


	15. Inside Out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a hot damn mess but it's midnight and I work tomorrow so what do you expect from me
> 
> Prompt: "holtz accidentally sees Erin in lingerie (probably courtesy of patty trying to get to “release her wild side”) and flips tf out"

Holtz was about halfway home when she realized that there was a 62% chance that she left a machine running in the lab that could turn the city inside out. The Langville-inator was on her top ten list of Machines That Shouldn’t Be Left Unsupervised, so she hustled back to the Firehouse as quick as her bike could take her.

There was, curiously, music pumping from upstairs when she arrived. She was a lot better at remembering to shut off her boom box than she was about powering down the lab, so that stumped her. Maybe it was a boogilicious ghost—emphasis on the _boo_.

She grinned to herself—she’d have to recycle that one for a living audience. She’d found out over several rounds of trial and error that ghosts didn’t appreciate the ghost puns too much. You ask _one_ ex-living bartender if he’s haunting a bar for the _boos,_ and suddenly you need stitches from being thrown into a wall of liquor bottles. Typical.

Familiar voices cut over the music along with some scattered thumping, like elephants doing _tour jetés._

Intrigued, Holtz took the stairs two at a time, forgetting all about the Langville-inator in favour of seeing if her best friends were possessed by a couple of dead prima ballerinas.

What she found was much better.

“Say it! Say it!” Patty shouted.

“I am _strong_ , I am _wild_ , and I am a _sexy_ woman!” Erin shouted back, strutting across the lab.

“Again!”

“I am _strong,_ I am _wild_ , and I am—” Erin had spun, and was now frozen like she’d taken a hit from Holtz’s Immobilize-inator.

(She’d taken to the naming conventions of Doctor Doofenshmirtz lately. Abby now fondly called her Doofenholtz).

“A sexy woman?” Holtz supplied, leaning against the wall in such a way that implied she was Cool and not just trying to prevent her noodle legs from giving out. She glanced down at them. “Unjellify,” she whispered.

“What?”

She looked up again. Erin’s forehead was beaded with sweat, her eyes cartoon-wide. Holtz had a hypothesis that if she stared hard enough at Erin’s forehead-sweat, her brain would be distracted from the fact that she was, at this present moment, dancing around Holtz’s lab in a set of dangerously flammable lace lingerie.

“Scientific method, scientific method,” she muttered to herself, squinting and trying to count how many droplets of sweat there were.

Erin backed away, making a break for a pile of clothes that was on one of Holtz’s workstations, which was just great, perfectly fine, and not something she would think about every time she worked there for the rest of time.

“What are you doing here?” Erin had her arms wrapped regrettably around her torso. “I thought you went home. You’re supposed to be at home.”

“I came for the uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh—” Holtz gestured vaguely over in the corner.

They both stared at her.

“Skin,” she finished, with a bob of her head like that’s what she meant to say all along.

“What—”

Patty held her hand up to stop Erin. “Nope. No. Don’t ask. I don’t wanna know.”

They both continued to stare at her, waiting for her to move. She didn’t know how to break it to them that she was a part of this wall now, integral to the structure of the building.

“You don’t have to stop on account of me,” she said. “I’ve been saying for years that there should be more dancing and fewer clothes in this lab.”

Erin covered part of her face.

“I was just trying to get Erin to let loose a little,” Patty explained. “Release her wild side, y’know.”

“I understand completely,” Holtz said. “I’m a firm believer that all our sides should be wild.”

Erin looked like she was praying for the sweet release of death. Which reminded Holtz—

“One of you mind switching off the Langville-inator for me?”

These were full sentences she was speaking. With real words and everything. It was impressive given the state of her brain, which was something akin to a strip mall in various states of disaster. Why a strip mall? For the variety, of course. She was standing knee-deep in the electronics store as it flooded, everything short circuiting around her. There was also a pawn shop on fire, as well as a dollar store in the throes of a 7.2 magnitude earthquake. The earthquake was not affecting the other stores. Don’t worry about it.

She realized that they were staring at her again, or maybe they never stopped, and that one of them had most certainly said something that she missed.

She adjusted her position on the wall, having slid down a little (probably the earthquake). “Come again?”

“The what?”

She tried to parse that, then remembered her request. “The Langville-inator.”

Mostly-blank stares, like Etch-A-Sketches that had been through a lot in their lives and couldn’t quite erase all the way anymore.

She pointed. “The brown one. There’s a 54% chance I left it running.”

“Why can’t you do it?”

Holtz nodded. “Great question.”

Silence.

“So no answer,” Patty said. “Alright.”

Erin tugged her shirt over her head. “I should go home. This was all so stupid.”

Patty looked distraught. “No! You were doing so good!”

Erin shook her head. “It’s hopeless. It doesn’t matter anyway.”

“Nuh uh.” Patty stopped her. “Holtzy, help me out here.”

Holtz’s eyes had slid down to Erin’s bare legs much like a weak magnet holding something too heavy for it. Her gaze snapped back up. “Qué?”

“Please tell Erin she’s sexy.”

Holtz’s mind Rolodexed with a hundred witty comments, but it was flipping too fast for her to catch any of them, so she found herself emitting a dial tone.

Patty pointed at her. “See? You broke Holtzy.”

“I didn’t break Hol—”

“No, I was pretty much ruined the second I got upstairs,” Holtz said. She hooked her thumb under her suspenders like it would help her stay upright. “As the lesbian-in-residence—”

Patty cleared her throat.

“As _one_ of the lesbians-in-residence,” Holtz corrected, “I have to say that…”

She trailed off, eyes landing on Erin’s chest. Erin crossed her arms.

“That’s my shirt,” Holtz murmured.

Erin glanced down and dropped her arms, tugging at the hem. “Yeah?”

Holtz ran her tongue along her teeth. “Erin Gilbert, in my lab—”

“Everyone’s lab,” Patty said.

“In _my_ lab, wearing lingerie and _my_ shirt.” Holtz examined a burn mark on the ceiling. “Patty, what adjective am I looking for?”

“Sexy.”

Holtz windmilled her arm and mimed bowling a strike.

Erin was candy-apple red.

“Y’know, I feel like my job here is done,” Patty said, snagging her coat off a nearby stool. “Holtzy, you good to take up the mantle?”

“I gotcha.” She high-fived her on the way past.

“You’re welcome,” Patty said under her breath.

And then there were two.

And a machine that was still threatening to flip the town upside down. Or inside out, but that didn’t rhyme.

“Erin?”

“Yes?”

“How do you feel?”

“I feel…like nobody’s ever looked at me like you’ve been looking at me since you walked in.”

“That can’t possibly be true.”

Erin inhaled loud enough that she could hear it from the other side of the room. “Holtz?”

“Yeah?”

“Come here.”

“Can’t, legs broke. Too gay to walk.” She shook her head. “Dammit, Gilbert.”

“Not my fault,” Erin said, and she was walking, crossing the lab until she was right there, right up in Holtz’s grill, and she took hold of her suspenders, eyes dipping down to her lips.

Holtz backed into the wall weakly. She quirked an eyebrow. “Hello.”

“Hi.” Erin released one of the suspender straps, her hand landing on Holtz’s chest instead, right over her heart.

“I’m sending Patty a gift basket tomorrow,” Holtz said.

Erin leaned in, her breath hot on Holtz’s neck. “Sign my name on the card too.”

“Mini muffins?” Holtz regained enough feeling in her hands to move them, one on Erin’s hip, the other on her back, creeping up underneath the Shirt.

“Imported chocolates. Spa gift certificates. Most expensive bottle of wine in the store.” Erin’s mouth was inches from Holtz’s ear. “Do you have a spare helmet here?”

Holtz closed her eyes. “You think I’m fit to ride a motorcycle right now, Erin? Do you really?”

“I think you’re fit to ride anything you want,” Erin mumbled.

Holtz opened her eyes and slipped down the wall, her legs finding relief in sitting. She looked up at Erin above her. “You think Patty would be into an all-expenses paid trip to Europe?”

Erin snorted, and that was sexier than all of it combined. She turned on her heel and walked back over to the worktable, grabbing her pants off it, and came back. She extended a hand down to Holtz.

“Come on.”

Holtz took her hand and allowed herself to be heaved up like the sack of dead gay weight she was. “You in the mood to scar a cabbie forever?”

“I always tip well,” Erin answered.

They made their way down the stairs without any sort of accident or limb-breaking, and out to the street. Erin put her pants on first. Unfortunately.

They were halfway to whoever’s apartment was closer—she couldn’t tell you at this point, not with Erin sitting prim and proper beside her and generating enough electricity to power half the planet—when Holtz abruptly swore.

“ _Fuck_. The Langville-inator.”

Erin raised an eyebrow with a casual shrug. “Fuck it.”

And yeah, Holtz could get behind that. There was only a 38% chance it was still on.

Besides, there were worse things than being turned inside out.

 

**Author's Note:**

> [Come submit a prompt](http://holtzin.tumblr.com/ask) or just come to cheer me on. I'll love you either way! I'll try to write all prompts but I can't make promises.


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